


F.A. 5 [Years of The Sun]

by MeetMeInThePit (Gil_Galads)



Series: Happy People [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Implied Relationships, Like Really Not Okay, M/M, Maitimo is Not Okay, Post-Rescue from Thangorodrim, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, he gets better though, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 09:22:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6148930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gil_Galads/pseuds/MeetMeInThePit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Findekáno won't give up on Maitimo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	F.A. 5 [Years of The Sun]

**Author's Note:**

> Very short, the first in a series (hopefully).
> 
> Also, despite it not being mentioned, Maitimo is a trans guy. That will come up in later fics.

When Findekáno found his beloved cousin on the cliff of Thangorodrim, he was scarred and broken and begging for death. Valar save him, but Findekáno could not give it to him; he had searched for Maitimo for so long, lost so much hope and joy; he could not let Maitimo go now. Not when there was a chance to heal him, to try his best to patch Maitimo back together, to see him smile again - even a little. And so Findekáno drew his sword, steeled his nerves, and swung his arm as swift and strong as he could.

Maitimo did not wake for a long time after he fell to sleep- true sleep, not the reverie of the Eldar in these dangerous times, and when he did he did not speak. He ate, but only when the food was put before his cracked lips. He drank, but only when the water was brought to his mouth. He did not acknowledge anything, and he simply laid there, eyes empty and hollow. Findekáno threw himself into his work, into caring for his cousin, and as the weeks drew on his temper shortened and his attention waned. There was talk among the camps that Maitimo’s fëa had already left his hröa, and the body in the healer’s tents was nothing but an empty shell. Findekáno stubbornly refused to recognize this out loud, but in his heart of hearts he wondered and felt sick. Surely an empty hröa would not survive this long? Surely he would have noticed if Maitimo’s fëa had fled since his rescue?

In the meanwhile, Maitimo recovered in body if not in mind. His cheeks lost their hollowed quality, and the dark circles under his eyes smoothed out. His scars healed over and faded, the stump of his arm was unwrapped from the bandages, and his hair regrew around the scars crisscrossing his skull. Findekáno pushed him through the forest on the edges of the camp in a small, wheeled cart, a thick woolen blanket over his lap and shoulders. Though Maitimo never seemed to hear his words; Findekáno spoke the whole time, showing his cousin the beauties of Arda that there had been no time for before his capture.

Turukáno came from Vinyamar several months after Maitimo’s rescue. He looked on Fëanaro’s eldest son and there was regret and sadness in his eyes. He took Findekáno aside before he left and told him that there was no hope for Maitimo. That his fëa was gone to Mandos and nothing Findekáno did would help him now.

“Brother, his eyes are empty; he is gone.”

“He is still here! I know it; I am getting through to him! He is coming back, I just need more time!” Findekáno refused to hear the desperation in his voice, to acknowledge that any improvement he saw in Maitimo was just as likely chance. Turukáno sighed, shaking his head.

“Please Findekáno, you will work yourself to death before he heals - if he could heal! Please, let him go.”

“Let him go?! I could never do that to Maitimo, and you know it! I cannot believe you; telling me to give up on him like he is already dead.” Desperation turned to anger, and Findekáno stepped forward, jutting his chin up towards his younger but taller brother.

“Maitimo is dead! He would not wish for you to squander all your hope in keeping an empty shell breathing! Give up, Findekáno!”

Findekáno took a sharp breath and a step back. He set shoulders and narrowed his eyes.

“Very well brother. If that is what you believe, then I will leave you to it.” Turukáno’s eyes widened, seemingly regretting his harsh words. “But give me this.”

 

••

 

Three weeks later, Maitimo’s eyes focused for a minute when Findekáno came into the curtained off section of the healer’s tent he was kept in. Findekáno nearly wept for joy when it happened, and he did weep when it happened again two days later on their usual walk.

By the end of the year six months later Maitimo was well enough to stand on his own in the official ceremony ceding the kingship of the Noldor to Ñolofinwë and his line. Findekáno wept once more, and it was bittersweet. On one hand, his cousin was so much better than he had been, and recovered more each week. On the other hand, he would never be the same, and still he had episodes of bitter anger and deep sadness, and often he stared blankly at something a thousand yards away that none could see.

**Author's Note:**

> checked over by @just-a-little-homo on tumblr, a wonderful person who offered to proofread even though they aren't even in the Silm fandom. Thanks bro!


End file.
